The wet grass squeaks beneath my shoes as I walk towards a slightly hidden corner of the backyard. Birds chirp from the trees and thunder rumbles overhead. Just then the dog door flaps open and one of my grandma's Papillon's Freddy trails several feet behind me. He tends to follow me almost everywhere.

The further back into the yard I venture the more the smell of blooming lilacs fills the air. Sitting in a corner is a small house, where many of my early childhood memories were made. The house is completely surrounded by plants; less than other years, but it still seems as if it is in the middle of a jungle. I step up on the wooden porch. The deck is painted green and is beginning to chip badly from the years of wear and tear of harsh Iowa weather. At one time the window frames and doorway were painted a deep maroon color. But seven or eight years ago my grandma repainted them green, and the plain wood of the deck along with them.

Taking a deep breath, I reach out for the doorknob and twist it open. As silly as it sounds I'm slightly nervous to see what is behind the door. Another rumble of thunder fills the air as I duck under the doorway and step inside. The dog door flaps open again, this time Freddy returns inside. The tiny room is painted completely pink, even the ceiling. The same grey carpet is there. Three windows(one on each wall except for the back) let in clouded sunlight. A wallpaper boarder is patterned with blue and white flowers wraps around the walls. The curtains are made of pink cotton and at one time strips of lace held them back.

Against the far wall sits a miniature table with two matching chairs. In the corner to the right is a cabinet with three open shelves and one at the bottom with a door. Plastic cups, plates, and silverware line the shelves. I can't help but chuckle at the giant pink rabbit propped up against one wall. My uncle Jeff gave it to my aunt Theresa as sort of a joke when they were in high school. In the corner behind the table is a tiny Fisher-Price kitchen. It has a working pump sink and a pretend stove attached to the left of it. Right beside is a very short wooden doll cradle. Off in another corner of the room is a bag filled with plastic kid versions of baseball bats, balls, and other sports equipment.

I prop the door open with the custom-made doorstop and then go to a window and push it open. i sit down underneath of the window and lean against the wall. The playhouse is almost as old as I am and it shows. The ceiling is starting to crack slightly. No one has set foot in here in over a year, probably longer. Cobwebs are in some places. Even though a pretty good breeze comes through the door and window, the humidity clings to my skin. A storm is brewing and the darkness of the sky shows it.

Walking around the room, I remember back to the old days. Gone are the times where I would play for hours and hours out here. Thinking back, I can almost taste the Kool-Aid my grandma would give me to drink. Memories begin to fill my mind, and the ones that involve my grandpa and baby cousin Zoe come to mind the most. All of the sudden the wind slams the open window shut, causing me to jump up. It is then I decide I'd better go inside. Gathering my things I slowly make my way to the door. Raindrops begin to hit me and leave trails running down my skin as I rush back inside.

Age shows in the playhouse, and it should considering it was built at my grandparent's old house back in 1998. Which wasn't long before my second birthday. My childhood is quickly coming to a close. But the memories made and the love my grandpa put into the house when he built it will be what I remember forever.